The Tube
by AGirloftheSouth
Summary: Sherlock and John take a ride.  Absolute fluff.


A/N – Absolute Fluff inspired by my most recent trip to London.

The Tube

Sherlock piles into the corner of the tube car, leaning against the window. He looks around, disgusted as the rest of the passengers pile in around him. He hates the tube and hates that John has been able to convince him that this is the most efficient mode of transportation back to Baker Street.

"A cab across the city will be ridiculously expensive, we'll just hop on the tube." The _tube_ public transportation at its most offensive. Even the aroma of John as he settles in front of him does nothing to alleviate the disgusting smells that surround him.

Sherlock is unable to see the doors over the sea of people, but he hears them close. He watches as John reaches an arm up to secure himself on the bar above them. He is mildly disappointed that the jerk of the train doesn't force John's body into his.

"How long will we be on this train?" He asks and John turns to look at him. Sherlock admires his husband's face. His cheeks are red from the alcohol and the wind in the stadium. There is a huge grin because he's happy. Happy to have gone to the match, happy West Ham won, happy to be with Sherlock.

John leans forward and Sherlock turns his head. The detective closes his eyes as his husband's breath brushes past his ear.

"_Harry gave me tickets to the West Ham match on my birthday." John's voice cut through the quiet in the room. Sherlock stretched and rolled back pressing himself against his husband's chest. He felt the arm drape across his waist and John's palm settle onto his stomach. _

"_I thought you wanted to go out for your birthday. I believe you forced me to promise to dinner and one of those horrible movies that you enjoy."_

"_mmmhmm," John said placing a kiss into the back of Sherlock's neck. "I was hoping to alter those somewhat." The kisses moved across the side of his neck, and settled into spot near his shoulder. John suckled gently on the spot and Sherlock's head settled deeper into the pillow. He felt the sensations start to surge through his body. John's hand moved lower and Sherlock let out a quiet moan. "I was hoping that you'd go to the match with me?" Sherlock heard the question and the completely rational part of his mind screamed for him to say no, he hated football. It was silenced quickly, John could do that without any real effort. His head nodded and John attached to his neck again. _

"About 15 stops," John says. The train stops and John pulls back. Their faces are just inches apart in the confined space. Sherlock wants to kiss him, but they are surrounded. "Thank you for coming out with me. I know you didn't want to." The grey eyes lock with the hazel ones and Sherlock feels a hand settle on his lower back.

He glances down, surprised that he hadn't seen John move his arm within the folds of his coat. The train moves again and John stumbles forward. Sherlock feels the familiar weight as it presses against his chest and the familiar wave of pleasure that the contact brings.

"Happy Birthday," Sherlock whispers as the momentum of the train catches up with John's body and the pressure against his chest eases. John doesn't move back though. He doesn't stand, just stays pressed against Sherlock.

Sherlock turns his head slightly and sees the grin still plastered on John's face. He also sees a glint in the hazel eyes that reveal the promise of something more. The promise of sex only adds to the sensations stirring through his body.

The train stops again, that would bring the count down to 13 stops. How long can that take, it is averaging about 2 minutes between stops, and less than that at the stops. He begins to do the math in his head, but can't seem to get a grip on the figures. John's breath is on his ear again and his brain won't allow him focus on anything other than that sensation.

"I love you," the doctor whispers and the words settle down Sherlock's spine. He can feel the shudder work through his body and knows that John feels it too. Fingers press into his lower back as the train starts to move again. The increase in noise covers the quiet gasp that escapes him as teeth close on his earlobe. John hums a response and Sherlock feels it through his chest.

Sherlock does a quick glance around; no one seems to be paying them any attention. There is a group of teenagers in the middle of their car singing a song about bubbles. Many of the other passengers are watching or joining in.

His eyes close as John's tongue dips into his ear. He resists the urge to bring his hand up and hold his husband's head in place. Instead, his hands ball into fists at his side. The sensation changes from hot to cold as the tongue darts in and out. Sherlock notices the rhythm immediately; it's identical to John's easy thrusting when they spend lazy mornings in bed together. Just like the lazy morning they spent together when John had asked him to attend the match.

They are Sherlock's favorite mornings.

The train comes to a stop again and John pulls back slightly as people move around them to get off the train. Sherlock mentally criticize every one of the idiots preventing him from getting home faster. _Twelve more, _he thinks as the fingers on his lower back manage to dip below the waistband of his trousers. _Only twelve more. _


End file.
